


Hillbilly Lullaby

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Sam is 17 in flashbacks), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Dean's One Job, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Flash Fic, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Massage, Season/Series 07, hurt/comfort elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Some rainy nights, apocalypses gotta wait.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 197





	Hillbilly Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> My friends, I like nothing more than a flash fic to jolt me out of a writer’s block. Let’s see if this works! ^_^

Dean hits the jackpot. One of those old-school motels: sloped, corrugated aluminum awnings and a real Carolina downpour blowing in. He whips into the parking lot and Sam eyebrows him.

“Shut up,” Dean says.

“It’s like, four in the afternoon.”

Dean eyes the sky. Sam chews his bottom lip, dimples set to vaporize, and from way down deep, sun-gold affection.

*

Backseat. Back when Sam still fit against him. Huddled under scratchy pilfered motel blankets, Sam splayed on Dean’s chest while wind and thunder rocked their rolling cradle on her wheels. Rain pounded, drowned out hammering hearts while Dad swore, swerved. Strobing lightning, liquid eyes, and Dean squeezed Sam’s neck, kissed in his hair…

*

Dean jingles keys. “You wanna ward up or make the supply run.”

First fat drops splat noisily on the pavement.

“You get supplies.” Sam hoists a duffle.

Dean translates, _Surprise me._ Licks his lips.

Gas mart, drugstore, diner. All Sam’s favorites, some of Dean’s. Dashing, splashing through parking lots, soaked to the bone, all said and done.

*

All Dean’s air ran out when his back hit dirt. Sam grinned. Straddled and suffocated him. Triumph in a wind-blown grassy spot behind a motel under a blackening sky. Sammy’d never whipped Dean fair and square before, and he draped his weight across Dean’s crotch, head fell back, long neck stretched and Sam laughed, bobbing Adam’s apple, shaking shoulders. Sprinkles sizzled off Dean’s skin.

*

Sam’s fed and showered. Weapons cleaned and checked and stowed, and Dean unwraps the blood-smudged bandage from Sam’s hand.

“How’s it feeling?” Fevered. Dean can tell that much.

“It’s okay.” Taut-jawed, not telling him everything.

Rain pummels the awnings, stampede loud. Dean pours antiseptic—real shit, not cheap eighty-proof for once and Sam hiccups, stifles a wince. Horseshoe of stitches intact; Dean dabs on no-name Neosporin.

“Gonna be a badass scar,” Dean says, and Sam almost musters stink-eye.

“Yeah, from where I fell on a bottle. Super badass.”

“Aaahh, we’ll think of something better.” Dean winds gauze firm-not-tight. “Maybe you… I dunno, caught an arrow or some shit.”

Sam snorts.

*

Pale and trembling. Sam’s coat, overshirt and t-shirt hung in rags around a bloody shoulder. Four long slashes. Not bad, not deep—not an accident hunters pile on layers. Dean breathed soothing sounds and smiled against Sam’s glassy stare. Butterfly bandaged, patched him up. Kissed Sam’s forehead like he was six instead of seventeen, and Sam tilted his chin…

*

“Naked.” Dean points at his bed. “Face down.”

“Wow, Dean, real romantic.” Dry, but he drops them drawers.

Dean strips too, climbs in after. Settles on his knees with Sam between. Baby oil cap snicks and Dean warms slippery liquid in his palms. Sam squirms, Dean’s half-hard cock nudges his crack and nestles a little when Dean leans down, smooths greasy hands across Sam’s shoulders, spreads oil down Sam’s back.

Sam sinks in the mattress. Long exhale as Dean digs fingers into knotted muscles. Drags his thumbs hard down Sam’s spine. Rough hands slide easy around Sam’s biceps, tension melts under Dean’s fingers and Sam moans soft. Dean kneads Sam’s ribs, lats and lower back. Sam rocks under him, still-damp hair, glimmering skin. Ripples, planes and valleys. Sam’s tiny waist.

Storm rattles the windows.

“Fuck, Dean, feels so good,” Sam sighs. Peaceful. Contrast to the fury outside.

Dean swings off. Sam sends a pouty look back over his shoulder and Dean swats his ass. “Spread ’em.”

Sam glares but he lets Dean slip between his thighs. Dean re-ups the baby oil and starts in just below Sam’s butt cheeks. Works Sam’s hamstrings. Teases in between his legs and gets a gasp. Dean drifts. Slides down off the bed and rubs Sam’s calves. Kiss on a bony ankle. Sam’s feet flex. Charley horses flee where Dean lays pressure, unwinds what he can of what Sam’s carrying.

He rubs Sam’s feet. Oil penetrates and softens callused skin. Dean jams thumbs against Sam’s arches, draws out achy moans. Soft circles on his heels, a pinched toe and, “This little piggy—”

“I will kick you in your face,” Sam mutters.

Dean laughs. “Flip.”

“So fuckin’ bossy,” Sam complains.

“Quit bitchin’.” Dean tugs Sam by an ankle. Shoves his legs apart once he’s on his back. Sam _oofs_ , but he hooks a knee and shows Dean everything. Dean sucks breath, full of faded shower smells and baby oil and Sam’s clean sweat.

He spreads leftover oil around on Sam’s chest. Gropes Sam’s pecs. Teases his nipples, tickles his ribs. Sam cusses, squirms and threatens. Dean gets him by the hips, thumbs in the ridges and he wraps his lips around Sam’s leaking dick.

Sam hollers. Feet and shoulders climb up off the mattress. Dean pets inside Sam’s thigh, tongues his ridge and slit and vein and wallows in Sam’s breaking exhales, quaking abs. Dean pets behind Sam’s balls, nurses his cock. Salt-sweet of Sam’s precome makes Dean’s mouth water.

Eyes up, soft suction at Sam’s head. Sam calms, comes back to him and Dean asks, “You wanna get fucked tonight, Sammy, or come just like this?”

*

Sam begged. Big-eyed. _You’re the only one I trust_ and Dean caved, same as he’d always done. Brushed Sam’s hair back. Brushed his lips.

*

Sam lifts his knees. Dean’s insides seize and before he can get too sentimental he gets to work, oils up his fingers and slips one in Sam, easy as Sunday. Sam shakes underneath and all around him and he takes Sam’s cock back, sinks until he feels it nudge his throat. Two fingers. Sam’s hips hitch and Dean gulps; Sam goes deep. Dean chokes. Tears spring, he fights to breathe and Sam’s hands cups his face—not holding—feeling. Dean’s cheeks cave and jaws stretch.

Dean pulls back, still pumping Sam’s ass while he licks and nips, belly button to taint. Tongue paints Sam’s balls and Sam bucks, grunts, and dribbles. Fucks himself on Dean’s hand, grinds Dean’s face. Dean sows lazy kisses up Sam’s sternum, murmurs against his neck, “You ready?”

Sam curls those massive hands around Dean’s head and mauls him, mouth and teeth and tongue. Dean slip his fingers free, Sam groans, “Come on. Come on.”

Dean grins. “Can’t wait to bounce on my dick, huh, Sammy?”

Pissy face attempt goes wide. “Shut up and fuck me.” Breathy.

“Music to my ears, little brother,” and Sam shudders.

Dean lines up. Sam bends, hands behind his knees and ass all in the air. Slick, hungry hole clamps tight on Dean’s head. Vision grays.

Thunder shakes them. Dean drives slow. Eyes on his oil-slick cock where it splits Sam, tender skin drawn taut. Sam babbles filth and nonsense. Thrashes. Flares his hair across his pillow. Dean tips forward, last inch, foreheads knock and he slides home. Takes Sam’s hands, laces their fingers—watches that busted palm—and holds him down.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Dean’s eyes roll back.

Sam tilts. Tremor takes him. “God. Right there.” And he ain’t gotta tell Dean twice.

He lets go of Sam's hands, picks his legs up. “Go on, man, touch yourself, get yours.” And Dean swirls hips, makes him yell. Sam jerks so fast, fist kinda blurs. Dean gets him by the hips. Jams in him, chatters at him, talking about, “So hot, Sammy, got me so deep—”

Sam comes. Shouts like he’s surprised and all his muscles lock. Dick in a vise grip, look on Sam’s face, all it takes for Dean to shoot up Sam’s insides. He pounds and fucks away while Sam squirts on his belly. Teeth grind. Dean can’t see. Sam squeezes, scratches, roils underneath him and Dean keeps blowing, keeps on moving until his soaked and shrinking dick falls out of Sam.

Heavy breathing.

*

Sam passed out in his arms, bliss-faced. Dean dropped one soft kiss to his crown and watched him sleep. 

*

Storm’s blowing over.

Lightning, muted through the motel curtains. Interval before the thunder stretches; awnings amplify the easing rain.

Sam snores, splayed across Dean’s chest. Hair in his nose, crick in his neck, come everywhere, dried sticky-gross…

And not a chance he’s gonna make Sam move.

**Author's Note:**

> [share on tumblr](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/618113154599256064/hillbilly-lullaby-wincest-nc-17-13k-on-ao3)


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